


Do You Grin Inside? You're Killing Me

by onceuponatime



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, blink make a guest appearance, cal and ash are together, idk - Freeform, im sorry, michael is very punk and wears eyeliner cause thats hot as hell, they're all teachers, this sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 10:49:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5372579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponatime/pseuds/onceuponatime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Luke can practically feel Michael’s eyes roaming the half of his body that’s not obscured by the table. He rolls his eyes before dropping Michael’s hand, and when he looks back at him he’s smirking. Luke glares at him, and Michael holds his hands up in mock surrender while laughing.</p><p>He’s pretty and arrogant, and Luke hates him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Grin Inside? You're Killing Me

**Author's Note:**

> alrighty so it's 5:30 am and I finished this instead of working on the presentation I have due next week but whatever.  
> I don;t know how I feel about this but I've been working on it for a while so I hope you don't hate it. It was supposed to be 5k but I was like nah, let's stretch it out because it's not like I have college work to do.  
> I name dropped a few of my favourite books in here, so authors, please don't sue me I'm not claiming them as my own.  
> There's also a line from a blink song in here. And a line from the same song is the title. (Also I didn't know what blink line up to go with here cause I love Tom with all my heart but he aint with them anymore so I went with Matt Skiba who I also love. Just in case there's any confusion. That's not really important but there you go)  
> So yes.  
> Also writing smut is my weakness please don't hate me for it I tried

“So we can all agree that it’s difficult to label Macbeth as the outright villain in the play, but..” Luke’s teaching is interrupted by a knock on the door. He turns to put his copy of the play face-down on the table to save his place and sends his class a warning glare to keep quiet while he goes to see who needs him. Calum is there, leaning against the wall and tapping something on his phone, ankles crossed. “Oh, hey. What is it?” Luke asks, a little glad for the small break from teaching.

Calum pockets his phone, peeking in over Luke’s shoulders to see what class he has. “Sophomores?” Luke nods morosely, and Calum squeezes his elbow sympathetically. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but dad called a meeting. All teaching staff. No exceptions.”

Luke groans and throws his head back. Those things are hell – Principal Hood talks for three hours about how students are like flowers or something like that and need to be pruned so they’ll grow into something beautiful, and then Corinne, the Home Economics teacher, will complain that her department doesn’t get enough money from the budget (even though it gets more than any other department in the whole school) and Calum and Ashton will make googly eyes at each other the whole time and make Luke feel sick. It’s been the same since Luke got the job here almost three years ago. “Calum, c’mon, it’s Friday. Try talk him out of it.” Luke can hear his class starting to get rowdy so he pushes Calum out into the hall and shuts the door behind them.

“Nothin’ I can do. I don’t want to be there just as much as you don’t. Plus, I had to cancel soccer training after school for it, and my kids have a game next week. And I can’t bail, because if dad gets mad and cuts the sports department’s budget again, then I’m so fucked. Just, please come. Or at least tell him I passed on the message and you’re the one that gets docked pay, not me. I need to be on his good side as much as everyone else does.” Something in Luke’s classroom crashes and he and Calum both flinch. Sophomores are the worst – not nervous little freshmen anymore and going through the phase where they think acting like a douche makes them cool. There’s hollering, so Luke bangs his fist on the door and shouts at them to be quiet. They don’t listen. Calum smirks.

“You’re so lucky all your students’ pent up energy is actually productive in your class. How do they get this riled up reading Macbeth?”

“I don’t know, man. But meeting – four o’clock. Be there.”

“Fine,” Luke says, throwing his arms up in defeat. “But I’m not happy about it. What do we even need a meeting for at this point in the year? Winter break is in a few weeks.”

Calum shrugs. “I don’t know. But I need sports equipment and I’m sure there are a few novels you want. And Ashton wants paints. Keep dad happy, talk up your department, flash a few A grades in his face and we can get the fuck out of there.”

“Oh, _Ashton_ wants paints, does he?” Luke asks, waggling his eyebrows and fully expecting the soft thump Calum delivers to his shoulder.

“Shut up. You know the art department is the least funded. It’s not just because...”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s not just because he’s the light of your life or some shit.” Calum mutters ‘dick’ under his breath and Luke is about to answer back when there’s a scream from inside his classroom. Calum flinches and Luke brings his hand up to rub at his eyes. “They’re fucking possessed.”

“They’re teenagers,” Calum says. There’s a loud chorus of ‘ooooh’ to emphasise Calum’s point.  “We weren’t that bad, were we?”

Luke scoffs. They were a million times worse. “I gotta get back in there before someone ends up sellotaped to a chair.” It’s happened before, and the girl was in tears while he was trying to pull the tape off of her hair while the other kids took videos. He’d rather not relive the whole ordeal.  

Calum nods and pushes himself off the wall. “Meeting,” he says, pointing at Luke. “Be there.”

“I don’t really have a choice do I? I kinda need to keep my job.”

Calum grins. “That’s the spirit.”

*~*

Luke knew these meetings sucked, but he had forgotten just how much they seemed to drain all life from him. Half an hour in and Calum is already snoozing, head resting on Ashton’s shoulder in a way that’s far too obvious. Ashton looks down at him every couple of minutes, giving him a little smile. It’s disgusting.

Luke’s sitting beside Calum, directly behind Corinne. She’s taking notes. About what, Luke doesn’t know, but he’s just trying not to fall asleep. Ashton’s doodling zombies and cute vampires on post it notes, sliding them over for Luke to admire every couple of minutes which makes him feel a little less dead. Corinne has at least two refill pages of notes, but Luke has three vampires, one zombie and a werewolf to stick up in his classroom. He wins.

He’s convinced that time slows down during these meetings, the seconds stretching into minutes. Everyone looks a little bit dead – some are playing games on their phones and Mrs. Jones is reading a novel underneath the table. And Luke’s pretty sure he can hear the clicking of knitting needles somewhere to his left.

All he can think about is getting out, going home and laying on the couch in his old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pants while old episodes of Cold Case play on the television. He might even order a bucket of fried chicken because it’s been a tough week – his seniors are starting to get angsty with their upcoming exams (he should get them hot chocolate for their Friday afternoon class or something to relax them) and his freshman are getting picked on by some of the older kids. Between him and Calum they’ve had to break up 6 fights in the past two weeks. There’s also a stack of essays on his desk waiting to be corrected, and another batch due in Monday. He needs this weekend to recuperate.

Principal Hood starts talking about the budget and what money is going where so Luke elbows Calum in the stomach to wake him. He sorts a little when he’s startled awake and sucks in a breath, and tries to cover it with a cough. Luke bites his lip to stop laughing, and resists the urge to flip Corinne off when she turns around to shush them.

Ashton raises his hand to argue his point about it not being fair to ask the kids to pay for _all_ the paint and canvasses themselves and how the art department is always overlooked, and Calum argues that the girls’ soccer team have been wearing the same uniform since 1986 and there’s no gym equipment from this century. Luke stays quiet – he doesn’t really need anything. All the novels he needs to teach are already stacked on the bookshelf in the back of the classroom. And it’s not like the students ever read them, anyway. They think he doesn’t know about online summaries. He does.

The English department doesn’t need much money anyway. The kids have the journals he makes them keep, and as long as they have something to take notes in they’re all set. Once a year they go see a play, and that’s about it. He’d rather Ashton get the extra money – he needs it more than anyone, especially fucking _Corinne_ – so he sits quietly and shakes his head when Calum nudges him to speak. Books work just as well if they’re ten years old.

Then it’s Corrine’s turn to speak. Everyone, even Principal Hood, groans under their breath as she argues about replacing one of the ovens because it heats up a few extra degrees. Calum’s eyes are burning holes into the back of her head, and he leans over to whisper in Luke’s ear. “If she gets _another_ new oven before I get tennis rackets that aren’t bent and don’t have unintended holes in them, I’ll quit. I swear I will.”

“Is everything alright, Calum?” Principal Hood shouts up from his spot at the front of the room, and Luke can practically feel the blush radiating off of Calum’s face. He bites his bottom lip to stifle a laugh, tongue messing with the hole where his lip ring goes when he’s not teaching, while Calum grumps out a “yes, sir,” and slumps down in his seat.

Principal Hood gives Calum the side eye that says ‘just cause you’re my son don’t mean shit in the workplace’, and looks down at his clipboard again. “Alright, last thing on the agenda.” Luke sighs in relief – it feels like he’s been crammed into this small classroom for hours when realistically it’s only been about fifty minutes. From the corner of his eye he can see Ashton whispering something into Calum’s ear, and Calum goes all red and giggly, smacking Ashton’s thigh under the table. Luke doesn’t even want to know.

“So, as you all know, Mr. Smith, the old music teacher, had a heart attack last month.” Of course Luke knows, he’s had to substitute some of his classes. But he’s not bitter about it, and hopes Mr. Smith comes back soon. And not only so Luke can go back to working his own hours. “He’s decided to take an early retirement.” Well, fuck. “But I have a replacement already sorted out. You all know what it’s like to be the newbie. Please look out for this guy, you know how our students can be. They tend to get a little...rowdy.” There’s a hum of agreement among the teachers. Rowdy is the wrong word – they’re going to eat this new guy alive if he lets them. Luke loves his students most of the time, but God, they can be right assholes.

Standing by Calum’s car later that night as the other boy smokes, Luke asks “Do you think the new guy will be anything like Mr Smith? I mean, there are only so many classical music puns I can take before my fake laughter turns into real tears.”

Calum shakes his head and crushes his cigarette out. “Dad says he’s young. And odd. But has, and I quote, the most charisma, dad has ever seen. Probably one of those weird plant people that wears socks with sandals and clothes made from grass.”

“My sophomores are going to destroy him if he doesn’t have a solid set of stones.”

“I don’t get what’s so bad about this year’s sophomores, Ashton says the exact same thing, But they always behave for me.” Calum unlocks his car, and slides into the driver’s seat.

“That’s because in your class they get to hit each other with sticks and balls and they don’t get in trouble for it. And half of them have a crush on you.”

Calum laughs, nodding. “Hey, me, Ash and Ash’s friend Logan are heading out tomorrow night. You wanna come?”

Luke knows what this is. Ever since Calum and Ashton became a thing, they’ve been trying to set Luke up. Which is cool of them and all, but Luke really doesn’t want to sit beside a stranger for three hours in a restaurant while Calum and Ashton play tonsil tennis across the table. “This isn’t a date is it? One of those double dates that you set up without telling me?”

“Of course not,” Calum says, but the glint in his eye gives him away. “Look, come out with us. Have fun. Break free!”

*~*

Luke’s Saturday was good, and because of that his Sunday was shit. He fell behind on grading papers because of the mariachi band that had taken up residence in his brain and he spent the morning hunched over his toilet, emptying last night’s dinner and stale alcohol into the bowl.

So when Monday rolls around and he’s still a little fuzzy, he’s not in the greatest of moods. He pulls into the car park and rests his forehead against the steering wheel for a few seconds, trying to build up the strength to go in and face his freshman. They’re still uninfluenced by the older kids, and so listen to him, but they’re still loud when they want to be. If he shows any weakness today they’ll be all over it.

He spends the ten thirty break with his head on his desk, cheek stuck to someone’s essay. Calum hollers at him when he passes the doorway, and Luke flips him off. How he’s never affected that much by alcohol, Luke will never know. It’s been two days and he’s still crucified. Maybe he’s just getting old, he thinks, and scrunches his face up because that is _definitely_ not it.

During a free slot at one o’clock he slinks into the teacher’s lounge for a well earned mug of coffee and a biscuit. He likes the teacher’s lounge; it’s small and cozy, and the smell of coffee has clung to every available surface by now. Here all his fellow teachers congregate and bitch about test scores and attendance while drinking shitty express coffee. There’s a sofa towards the back that’s older than Luke’s parents and overstuffed armchair, two tables, six chairs and not much else.

It’s usually empty when Luke goes during a free time slot – most of the other people he works with are still teaching a class, and so he fully expects it to be empty now. Except it isn’t.

There’s someone sitting at one of the tables with their back facing the door. They’re deep in conversation with the French teacher whose name Luke has never learned and they’re both lost in what the other is saying. It takes Luke a moment to register that they’re not speaking English, and neither look up when the door slams shut behind him.

The first thing he notices is the hair. How could he not? It’s flaming red and messy as anything. It looks kind of soft though, like cotton candy, and for a bizarre moment Luke imagines touching it. The he sees the neck tattoo. He can’t make out exactly what it is from the angle he’s standing at, but it’s definitely there, dark against the pale skin.

He assumes it’s someone’s parent and goes back to making his coffee so he can hole back up in his classroom until his two o’clock class. He takes another side glance, and draws the conclusion that it’s Johnny Mayer’s dad (he’ll ask as subtly as he can to confirm this later) because there’s a patch sewn onto this guy’s denim shirt that has the same logo Johnny has stitched onto his bag. Plus, Johnny’s a little bit of a misfit. Luke’s not one to judge by appearance, but it would make sense he was related to this guy.

When his coffee is brewed and he nicks a couple of stale custard creams from the biscuit tin, he heads back to his classroom and forgets all about red hair and neck tattoos.

*~*

Until the next afternoon.

Luke loves Tuesdays. After Friday, they’re his favourite day of the school week. He doesn’t have to teach a class until after the ten thirty break, and so always gets a good breakfast. Well slept and full of good (well, _alright_ ) food, he makes it to the school at ten forty five where he has his senior literature class for a double period. Luke loves his seniors – he’s had this AP group since their freshman year by some streak of luck, and they treat him more of a friend than a teacher. On Tuesdays, Calum stays after school to coach the girls’ soccer team, so Luke hangs out in the art room with Ashton, cleaning brushes and stacking canvases until Calum’s finished and the three of them go for dinner.

This Tuesday was going to plan. His lesson with the seniors on J.D. Salinger went well. Alex only made one sarcastic remark in the entire hour and a half, and no one fell asleep. He was going to spend lunch break in the teacher’s lounge on the sofa with Calum and Ashton and complain about all the tests he would have had graded by now if they hadn’t of dragged him out on Saturday night while shoving his face with whatever crap he gets from the vending machine.

He’s standing by the kettle waiting for the water to boil when he sees Calum walk in, whistle still hung around his neck and cheeks a little pink from the November chill. He’s talking over his shoulder, and Luke expects to see Ashton come through the door next, but it’s not Ashton. It’s the dude from yesterday, the one with the crazy hair and body art. Calum is laughing heartily at something the guy has said, eyes crinkling and hands over his stomach.

Luke dumps three spoons of sugar in his coffee without taking his eyes from the new guy. There’s no way in Hell this guy is a teacher. He’s wearing ripped jeans and combat boots, and a sleeveless shirt that shows off arms covered in tattoos. His eyebrow is pierced and _Christ,_ he’s wearing eyeliner. There’s no way in Principal Hood would let him teach here looking like that – he made Luke take out his lip ring, for God’s sake. This guy is like a walking advert for Punk. Luke likes punk, loves it in fact, but can’t help wondering what the guy is doing here in the first place. He looks happy, so his kid isn’t in trouble, and he looks a little too young to have a kid, anyway. Luke kind of hopes he doesn’t have a kid.

Sipping at his coffee to make sure he has enough sugar and milk in it (Ashton cringes every time Luke makes his coffee ‘impure’, the weirdo), he heads over to the table Calum and The Punk are sitting at. They’re deep in conversation and Luke has to cough to get their attention. “This taken?” he asks, resting his hand on the back of a seat. Calum shakes his head and opens up the salad sitting in front of him.

“So, Michael,” Calum says with a smirk before stabbing a piece of lettuce with his fork. “This is Luke, the nerdy. And Luke, this is Michael, the newbie.” Calum chuckles at his own joke while Luke chokes around his mouthful of coffee. The _newbie_?

“The newbie?” Luke asks when he stops choking and making an idiot out of himself. His eyes are still a little watery, and he’s a little pissed because Calum didn’t even stop eating his damn salad to make sure that Luke was okay. (Granted he chokes or trips or drops things at least five times a day, but that’s not the point.) Michael smiles and holds his hand out over the table for Luke to shake. He has to wipe some of the coffee he spluttered onto his palm on his black pants before he accepts it, but Michael either doesn’t notice or just isn’t grossed out by fluid that’s been in other people’s mouths.

Luke can practically feel Michael’s eyes roaming the half of his body that’s not obscured by the table. He rolls his eyes before dropping Michael’s hand, and when he looks back at him he’s smirking. Luke glares at him, and Michael holds his hands up in mock surrender while laughing.

He’s pretty and arrogant, and Luke hates him.

“Sorry, what was that Cal?” He asks when he only catches the end of Calum’s sentence.

“Nothin’ important. Was just telling Michael that you teach Literature.” Michael’s leaning back on his chair, playing with one of the frayed holes in the knee of his jeans. He’s smiling that god awful smirk again, and his lips are so red Luke can’t help but wonder if it’s natural.  

“Explains a lot, actually.” Michael says, and damn his voice is nice, too. Low and kind of growly.

“Explains what, exactly?” Luke asks through clenched teeth. He’s heard all the snobby Literature teacher jokes a million times before, and they don’t get any funnier.

Michael shrugs. “The suspenders.” Luke’s pretty sure he can feel his jaw twitch. Calum rags on him all the time for wearing suspenders, but Luke likes them. They’re way more comfortable than belts, and they look kind of vintage. Everyone can just _fuck off_.

“So, you’re the new music teacher?” Luke raises an eyebrow and waits for Michael’s reply.

“Yup,” Michael smirks and leans forward on the table, crossing his forearms. “Does that explain anything?” Luke has to take a deep breath to calm his nerves. He’s not sure why this guy can get such a rise out of him after five minutes of conversation. He can see Calum giving him a warning stare from where he’s sitting, but he doesn’t care.

“The delinquency,” Luke replies before taking a sip of his now cold coffee. That’s bullshit, he knows, because Mr. Smith had a comb over, wore tweed suits and hummed the Moonlight Sonata while he was doing Sudoku puzzles so like, one of those off the bat crazies is more of an art teacher than a music teacher in this school. But Michael is new – he doesn’t know that.

But he doesn’t look insulted, either. Not even a little bit. He throws his head right back and laughs, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Calum chucks one of his croutons at Luke and gives him the blue steel look he’s famous for before Michael is able to calm down and stop laughing. “Thanks, man,” he says, smiling right at Luke. “’Delinquent’ is exactly what I was going for.”

*~*

Luke is seriously considering getting his seniors checked for drugs. It’s been about fifteen minutes since the class started, and they’ve practically been vibrating in their seats since they sat down. Alex is the worst, turning to whisper to Brian every so often until Luke eventually has to move him up the front. Then Alex just shouts across the room, and Luke hears the words ‘Led Zeppelin’ and ‘Misfits’ come up more than once, so he has to investigate.

“Okay,” he says, dropping The Catcher in the Rye onto his desk. He sits on his desk in front of his class and clasps his hands between his knees. “What is it? Have you all taken Adderall? And you,” he says, pointing at Alex. “You’re never this hard to keep quiet. What’s going on?”

Twenty four pairs of eyes look at him in confusion, and no one speaks. “What do you mean?” Brian asks, fiddling with his pencil. Luke wants to berate him for not taking down notes, but he has Ashton’s little monsters from the meeting looking at him and he feels like that would be double standards, so he lets it slide this once.

“Why are you all acting like little kids on Christmas eve? And talking about Led Zeppelin?”

“We just had music class. Have you met the new teacher, Mr. Hemmings?” Alex asks, and Luke nods to say that yes, he has. “Well, yesterday he gave us this massive list of songs that he thinks we need to listen to before we die, and they’re actually pretty great. I listened to them all last night on a loop.”

Luke clenches his jaw. “That’s great, Alex. But we have to...”

“He’s so great, Mr. Hemmings! I told him I really liked the Misfits songs he had on there, and look!” Alex rummages in his bag for a second before pulling out a tattered old CD case. Luke knows the cover immediately. He’s been listening to that particular album since he was twelve years old. “He handed me this!”

“Good album. Listen to track six.” It slips out before he can even catch it. That part of him is for outside of school, strictly.

Alex’s mouth hangs open. “Mr. Hemmings, you like this music?” Luke doesn’t answer, determined to get the attention back on the subject _he’s_ supposed to be teaching.

“Has anyone actually done the reading I assigned you or were you all too busy with your music homework?” he asks, rubbing his temples. His eyes scan around the room, and all the students look guilty, biting their bottom lips with pink faces. “Right, well I suppose there’s no point in me discussing it until you’ve read it. Start reading it now, and have the next few chapters finished for tomorrow. And _do_ read it guys, there’ll be a pop quiz.”

There’s a groan of protest but Luke holds his hand up to quieten them. “You have an exam in a few months. This is for your benefit, not because I enjoy grading.”

When the classroom is silent, Luke walks over to Alex’s desk. Alex looks panicked for a moment, eyes going wide. Luke isn’t even going to question what he’s trying to hide. He feels a little idiotic for what he’s about to ask, but he’s curious.

“Do you, uh, do you have that list that Mr. Clifford gave you?” he whispers, crouching down so no one else hears him ask. Alex gawps at him for a moment before nodding and reaching into his bag. He pulls out a torn refill page with a list of songs in the middle. Some are highlighted or circled, lyrics scrawled beside them with ‘check out more’ or one in particular that makes Luke chuckle – ‘holy shit’

“They’re just my own notes, they’re not important. Am I in trouble?” Luke is actually a little shocked, because not once has he even seen Alex with a pen in his hand, and here is, actually taking _notes._ He can’t even be jealous that they’re not for his class, he’s just impressesd.

“What? No,” Luke says, eyes scanning down the list. _Bohemian Rhapsody, Kashmir, Born In The USA, Welcome To The Black Parade, Die Die My Darling, American Idiot, Enter Sandman, Jailhouse Rock, Adam’s Song, Unholy Confessions, Stairway to Heaven_ are just a few he catches as he quickly scans the page.“Just wanted to see what he has you all listening to so I’m not surprised when you all come in to me pierced and tattooed.”

He hands the list back to Alex and sits at his desk, trying really hard to think of something that’s not Mr. Clifford and how his music taste is exactly the same as Luke’s own. He checks around the room to make sure people are actually reading, but Alex isn’t looking at the book on his desk. He’s looking at Luke like he’s trying to crack some sort of code and the answer is hidden on Luke’s face.

*~*

“You all barely managed to pass this quiz,” Luke says, sitting in front of his class again. He hates to be the teacher that’s constantly pressuring them to work, but if they’re not performing in exams then he has to be. “I _told_ you there was going to be a test. They weren’t even hard questions, guys. What happened?”

They do all look a bit upset, and Luke can’t help but think _good_ ¸ maybe it will give them a wakeup call and make them do their work. Even Sarah, his straight A student, was only a couple of marks away from a fail and he’s worried. “Guys, c’mon. Am I doing something wrong? Because if the whole class is doing this bad, then there has to be something that’s causing it.”

“We had a music project due,” Alex says quietly from his new seat at the front. Luke only meant for him to sit there that one day, but now it seems to be his new spot. Luke doesn’t mind – maybe he’s taken a new interest in learning.

“A music project,” Luke repeats.

“Yeah. Mich - I mean, Mr. Clifford wanted us to pick our favourite artist and write about them, play our favourite song for the class. Do a presentation. It was fun.”

Mr. Clifford. Luke just barely refrains from spitting fire.

“Sorry, Mr. Hemmings,” Sarah says softly, and Luke feels a little bad. She hardly ever speaks so her grade must be bugging her. He’ll talk to her about it after class. “It’s just that the project was gonna be counted in our final grade, and I kinda needed to get good marks in it cause I haven’t been doing so well in music.”

“You can’t pick one subject over the other. I know the music thing was fun, but that was still a _test_ ¸ guys, and those weren’t good marks. You would have passed if you just read the novel – they were plot point questions.” There’s a mumble of ‘sorry’. “If you needed time to do your project, you should have explained it to me. I was in school once too, I understand.”

Some kids nod, some still look down at their grades written in the corner of their exams in red marker. Luke felt bad handing those back, but it’s not his fault.  He _told_ them what to read.

“Okay, let’s go over the character of Holden Caulfield. Have you read the novel this time around?” The silence answers his question. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Mr. Clifford –“

“I can’t wait for you guys to read it any longer,” Luke interjects. “We’re already behind. I have to finish this today. _Please_ catch up on the book this weekend, because on Monday we start The Grapes of Wrath, and you need to be on top of that one from the start.”

*~*

“You’re disrupting my class,” Luke says, taking a seat in front of Michael and Ashton, to the left of Calum.

“Aw,” Michael says, fluttering his eyelashes. “You thinking about me too much to teach properly? I’m flattered.” Calum snorts and Luke stamps on his foot under the table before stealing a sip of his coffee. Ashton tells them to be quiet as he sketches, mumbling at Calum to tilt his face a little more to the left.

“Are you drawing me again?” Calum asks with a small smile. The colour is rising in his cheeks, and Ashton looks a little bit flustered when he mutters something about Calum being his muse. Michael smiles between the two of them before turning back to Luke.

“So, enlighten me. How am I ruining your amazing classes? Be assured I’m not doing it on purpose, but maybe when I know what it is, I can turn it up a notch.” Calum laughs again, and Luke tries hard not to glare at him. Some day time talk show is coming from the busted up radio and Luke can hear snippets of a weather report. He doesn’t need a weather report – it’s winter in New Jersey. It’s going to be snow, snow and more snow.

“This stick it to the man attitude you’re passing on to them. It’s giving them the idea that they can get away with not doing homework, and when it is done, it’s always late. They use your lame projects as excuses.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Well I’m sorry my subject is of more interest to them.”

“Are you even teaching them music? How is handing them a list of rock songs to listen to considered homework?”

Luke knows he fucked up when he sees the smile stretch across Michael’s face. “How do you know what homework I’m assigning them? Are you asking about me, Hemmings?”

Luke slumps down in his seat. “You’re unbearable.”

“Cal, _don’t move_ ,” Ashton whines, leaning across the table to manoeuvre Calum’s face back to where it was.

“C’mon, man,” Calum groans. “I’m hungry, let me eat my lunch.”

“Oh, the pains of being beautiful,” Michael singsongs towards Calum. Luke’s just glad he’s not the one on the other end of Ashton’s death stare.

*~*

Luke has come to the conclusion that some of the students in this school go out of their way to make his life a living hell. He’s got an armful of heavy hardbacks balanced precariously in his arms as he tries to manoeuvre his way down the hall. On any other day he gets knocked into once, maybe twice, but when his arm muscles are straining from trying to keep a hold of the books he can’t get two steps without another raucous student bounding into him and shouting “sorry, Mr. Hemmings” over their shoulder.

He grits his teeth and tries to push through the horde of people milling around. They should all be in class – he has no idea what they’re doing still wandering around the corridors.

“Hey, Luke!” someone shouts from behind. Luke rolls his eyes, and keeps pushing through. His classroom door is in sight.

“It’s Mr. Hemmings,” He replies, because since when did students call teachers by their first names?

Then from the corner of his eye he can see a mop of red hair. Michael bounds easily through the crowd to get to him with a grace that someone over six foot shouldn’t really have. “Oh, I’m sorry _mister_ Hemmings,” he says with a small smirk when he catches up.

“What do you want, Michael? Some of us actually have classes to plan.”

“Well, where’s the fun in that?” Michael asks with a small laugh. “Anyway, just came over to see if you wanted a hand with all those books.”

Luke doesn’t answer, just keeps walking towards the door to his classroom. His arms are starting to go numb, but he grits his teeth and bears it because he does _not_ need Michael swooping in like some Prince Charming and saving the day. Luke doesn’t need saving.

He stops in front of his classroom, shuffling some of the books around so he can try to push down the handle. Michael reaches for the door handle, but Luke shakes his head and says “It’s alright, I got it.”

Luke shuffles the books again while Michael stands and watches, and he knows it’s going to happen before it does. From the top of the pile a book starts to slip, and Luke can’t even try to catch it without dropping all the books he has cradled in his arms in the process. It slides right off the pile, and Luke braces himself for the loud _thump_ it’s going to make when it hits the tiled floor.

But it doesn’t come. Michael holds the book up in front of Luke’s face and smiles before leaning around him and pushing the classroom door open.

“You know if you’re so serious all the time you’re going to get worry lines in that pretty little face of yours,” Michael says before balancing the book back on the top of the pile and walking away.

Luke watches as the red of his hair gets farther and farther away before shaking himself and stepping into his classroom.  

*~*

“He’s insufferable,” Luke mutters sitting on the sofa in the teacher’s lounge. Calum and Ashton are cuddled up on the armchair across from him. The whole staff knows about them being together by now, and Luke wouldn’t be surprised if the entire student body managed to work it out as well. They’re not exactly subtle about it.

Calum shrugs and leans back farther into Ashton’s embrace. “I like him.”

“Me too,” Ashton adds over Calum’s shoulder. “He gives me tonnes of band recommendations – underground shit I’d never come across myself and man, they’re fucking awesome. _He’s_ awesome.” Calum mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘why don’t you ask _him_ to be your boyfriend?’ and Ashton shuts him up by biting his earlobe gently.

“How did he even get the job? He looks like he got kicked out of the Sex Pistols or something.”

“Dad never usually gives out details, but he says Michael has some of the best qualifications he’s ever come across.” That doesn’t really surprise Luke. His seniors always have music before his class on a Wednesday, and every week they’re excited and giddy and gushing over some new band or even some classical pieces. Michael has to be good at what he does to get them worked up like that. But he has a neck tattoo.

“But guys, he has a _neck tattoo_ ,” Luke whines, as if it makes any bloody difference. He’s not even sure why he’s pushing this. Michael has everyone wrapped around his finger. Even fucking Corinne. It’s that damn charisma Calum mentioned – he has it by the bucket load.

“I thought tattoos were you’re thing? You know in your ‘other’ life?” Ashton asks, and Calum nods in agreement, grin spreading across his face.

“That’s what this is about. You like him. You _like him_ like him.”

Luke scoffs. “What are we? Twelve? I don’t like him.”

“What tattoo do you have, again? I can’t remember,” Ashton says, staring at Luke’s shirt sleeve as if he’ll be able to see through it. Luke subconsciously covers it with his hand.

“That’s not the point! The point is...”

“The point is,” Calum cuts him off with a warning stare, “he’s coming over here. So be nice, for God’s sake.”

Luke hardly has a second to prepare himself before the small couch is bouncing under the weight of Michael throwing himself on top of it. He’s so close to Luke that their thighs are flush against each other, and Luke has nowhere to go. He’s completely trapped between Michael and the armrest of the sofa. “Hey guys,” Michael says, excitedly, and Luke doesn’t really hear anything because the smell of Michael’s cologne is making his brain short circuit. He has to restrain himself from leaning over a little bit and taking a long whiff of it. That’s a sure way to freak Michael out. “What’s up?” Michael asks when he finally settles himself and pulls a bag of crispy M&M’s from his jean pocket.

“Nothing at all,” Calum says, looking right at Luke. “Just talking about the blink-182 concert Luke got tickets for.”

“Holy shit, really?” Michael exclaims, turning his body so he’s facing Luke. Luke will never admit that he kind of misses the feeling of Michael’s thigh pressing against his own. Because he doesn’t. Not even a little bit. “I got tickets for that, too! Well, tic _ket_. I’m going by myself.”

Calum is sending one of his _guess what I’m about to do_ smiles in Luke’s direction. And Luke knows what he’s about to do. So when Calum opens his mouth to tell Michael that Luke is going alone too and they should definitely go alone together, Luke delivers a swift kick to Calum’s shin from under the coffee table.

Calum calls him a prick and Ashton fusses over Calum for the next ten minutes. Michael just looks really confused.

*~*

“Okay, so what point do you think John Steinbeck is trying to get across with this novel?” Luke asks his class. Sarah raises her hand, and Luke gives it a few more seconds to see if anyone else is willing to give it a go before sighing and gesturing at her to make her point. He loves her – she makes his report look good – but he wishes some of the other kids were as eager to speak out. They’re smart, all of them, and he knows they know the stuff. But it doesn’t matter – whatever they know comes out in their essays and exams and that’s really all he can ask for at this point.

“Well, from my reading I think the entire novel is a critique on the way American’s during the –“ She’s interrupted by a loud knock on Luke’s classroom door. He apologises to her, and makes his way over to talk to whoever it is that needs him. He curses under his breath because there was a flow going – no one was asleep and two people actually raised their hands in the entire class.

He swings the door open with a smile in case it’s Mr. Hood or, god forbid, a parent, but his smile falters when his eyes meet Michael’s, forest green and ringed in thick black. “Oh, it’s you,” he says, but Michael keeps smiling, a ten thousand watt grin that looks like it’s got to be hurting his cheeks.

“Good to see you too, sweet pea,” Michael says. “Always such a charmer.”

“What is it, Michael? I’m in the middle of a class,” Luke states, leaning against the door frame.

“Don’t get your briefs in a twist; I was just wondering if you had a spare whiteboard marker. My last class had an exam and I was bored so I used the last of mine to colour in my nails.” Michael holds his hands up in front of Luke and waggles his now black fingernails. “Like ‘em?”

“That’s gonna be a bitch to get off. Did you leave a class unsupervised?” Luke asks, turning to walk back into his classroom. He doesn’t expect Michael to follow him into the class, but he does anyway.

“They’re like, seventeen. They can supervise themselves.”

When the kids get a glimpse of Michael they automatically start gushing out “hey Mr. Clifford”s and “can’t wait to have you after break!”s. Luke can feel his jaw twitch a little bit. He busies himself with rummaging in one of the drawers in his desk, searching for his spare markers.

“Mr. Clifford, you were right,” Alex practically shouts. When Luke gives up looking for the markers in his desk and just grabs one from the holder on the whiteboard, he looks over at Alex who’s practically leaning over his desk to talk to Michael. “Good Charlotte’s self titled is so good! I downloaded all their stuff last night!”

“That’s so awesome man,” Michael says. He’s sitting on the edge of Alex’s desk, looking at something Alex handed him and smiling. Alex starts gushing about some other album that Michael told them to check out, and a lot of the other kids are joining in too. They’re all smiling and giddy, and Michael looks just as excited as them.

Luke stares. He can’t help it. Michael uses his whole body to speak, arms flapping wildly about as he retells the first time he heard Metallica play live. The class hang on every word, like they’ll be quizzed about the tiniest detail of what Michael is telling them. Luke isn’t even aware of the small smile that’s tugging on his lips as he watches Michael smiling and laughing and patting Alex’s shoulder.

Luke smiles until he catches Alex staring at him in amusement, eyebrows raised like he knows something. Which is preposterous because there’s nothing _to know_. So he wipes the smile off his face and walks over to Michael, handing him the marker and pointing towards the door.

“Thanks, man,” Michael says as cheery as ever. “And remember what I said. Frowning so much will only mar your pretty little face.”

Luke’s face flushes red as the students snicker. They all shout ‘bye Michael!’ as Luke all but shoves him out of the door. When he hears it click shut, he takes a moment to let his face return to it’s normal colour before he turns to face his seniors again.

It’s five minutes to the end of class when Alex raises his hand. Luke is shocked, so closes his novel over to give Alex his full attention. “What’s up?” he asks, resting the backs of his thighs against the front edge of his desk.

“Mr. Hemmings,” Alex starts, and his tone is teasing. “Teachers are allowed to date each other, aren’t they? Like Mr. Hood and Mr. Irwin?” Luke’s shocked for a minute, because even though he’s certain that the students know about those two dating, they _never_ talk about it. He feels like he has to at least try and deny it.

“They’re not dating,” he says flatly. It doesn’t sound at all convincing. Alex makes a ‘pfft’ noise, looking at Luke like he thinks he’s an idiot.

Luke resists the urge to send him to the principal’s office, and flips open his novel again to start reading. Alex looks far too pleased with himself.

*~*

Luke sits at his desk getting angrier by the second. He watches the minute hand pass, and tries to steady his breathing. There’s a pile of worksheets on the table beside him that were supposed to be done today, but his seniors are fifteen minutes late.

Not even three or four of them. All twenty four of them.

He taps his pencil against his desk and thumps his foot on the floor to the rhythm of When I Come Around. He wasn’t told they were going on any trips today, and he saw most of them milling around the school earlier in the day. How does an entire class just not _show up_? He sits for another few minutes before he decides he better do something, and steps out into the hallway. As soon as he’s out of his classroom, he can hear heavy bass and guitar filling the corridor. There’s only one room that could be coming from. His seniors had music in the time slot before his, and he’s pretty sure they’re still there.

He heads in the direction of Michael’s classroom, only a few doors down from his own. He can’t help but wonder why no one has made a complaint about the noise level, because it’s loud. Really loud. The screaming guitar covers the sound of his shoes squeaking against the linoleum.

“What the-“ he mutters when he makes it to Michael’s door and all he can hear is laughing and shouting, loud rock music continuously playing. He knocks, even though he knows it’s useless, no one’s going to be able to hear him over that racket. He shoves the door open, and stands with his mouth open as he surveys the scene in front of him.

All the desks have been pushed to the edge of the classroom, and Michael’s standing on top of one, shredding along on an honest to god electric guitar to the music that’s blaring from the speakers in the corner of the room. Someone is messing about on an improvised drum kit, and another two are playing on acoustic guitars. One of them is Alex. The rest of the kids are standing in the middle of the room, shouting along to the lyrics, eyes glued to Michael and the other kids with the instruments. “What the-?” Luke repeats, as he stares at the kids that were supposed to be in his class twenty minutes ago. They haven’t even noticed that he’s come into the room.

Luke sees red. He slams the door behind him, and the crash grabs Michael’s attention. He looks up from the fret board of his guitar, and his smile doesn’t falter a fraction, even when he sees the stony look on Luke’s face. He hops off the table, hands the guitar to Brian, and jogs to the stereo to turn the music off. The silence is a little weird for the first couple of seconds, and the students still muck about on their instruments until they realise their backing music has been cut off. “Oh, hey Luke!” Michael says.

“Hey Luke?” Luke repeats in disbelief.

“Uhm?”

“My students are twenty minutes late to class.” The kids start packing up their stuff, not looking at Luke. They look a little panicked. Luke hates being the bad guy, and he never really was. Until Michael showed up.

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t hear the warning bell go off and lost track of time, it’s entirely my fault.”

Luke is seething. “Get to class,” he says. The teenagers don’t move, just stand looking between Luke and Michael like deer caught in headlights. “Now,” Luke adds through his teeth, and they all scatter out the door.

“Hey, don’t take it out on them! It was completely my fault.”

Luke stares at Michael in disbelief. “Oh, I know.”

“C’mon, man. It won’t happen again, it was an honest mistake. Lighten up a little bit.”

“Lighten up?” Luke almost shouts. He doesn’t want to lose his temper, but it’s like Michael is trying extra hard to push all of the buttons that drive him crazy. “They have their finals in a few months, Michael! They have actual classes to study for!”

Michael looks taken aback for a split second before he composes himself and fixes Luke with the dirtiest look Luke has ever been on the receiving end of. “Music isn’t a real class?”

“How can you even ask that when all you do is give them songs to listen to and mess about? What are you even teaching them?”

“I’m teaching them to have fun,” Michael says flatly, and before Luke can even reply Michael is continuing. “I’m teaching them that yeah, school is important, but so is having a good time and giving yourself a break now and then. That creativity is just as important as intelligence and it’s okay if you want to write a kick ass poem instead of be a math professor and if you wanna write a fucking song or paint a fucking picture then you should, and shouldn’t let anyone tell you it’s not good enough. That academics isn’t the be all end all, that it’s okay to not get things right away, that it’s okay to feel a little confused, a little messed up. That it’s okay to not be okay and express that through any way you see fucking fit. So no, I’m not forcing them to read out dated novels written by crusty ass old men, but I think my class is just as important.”

Luke stands staring when Michael finishes speaking. He doesn’t know where to even start. He feels like as ass, because music meant all that to him as well, it still does. He didn’t mean to undermine everything Michael’s doing, because the students obviously love him, he’s just in a bad mood. (It’s kind of Michael’s fault but he thinks they’re even now.)

Michael glances up at the clock on the wall and then turns back to Luke. “You’re almost half an hour late for your own class.”

Luke nods, and walks out the door, shutting it carefully behind him. When he gets out into the hallway, he runs his hands through his hair and mutters ‘fuck’ under his breath.

Back in his classroom, he assigns reading for his class to do and sits behind his desk, trying to think of anything but the hurt that flashed on Michael’s face when Luke said what he did. He has to hold papers up in front of his face, because Alex keeps glancing up at him and raising his eyebrows. Luke is not prepared to share his problems with his students – that’s a whole new level of unprofessional.

*~*

“Why are you such a dick?” are the first words out of Calum’s mouth when he barges into Luke’s apartment. It takes Luke a moment to register that there’s another person there before he can even think about what Calum said.

“Hello to you too, Cal,” Luke grumps, sitting up on the sofa and crossing his legs underneath him. “Hey, Ash,” he says when Ashton makes a much less dramatic entrance, closing the door behind him and settling on the other side of the sofa Luke’s occupying. Calum’s in the arm chair across from him, looking at Luke like he just stole a puppy’s ball and like, threw it into the ocean or something.

“You need to stop being such a twat to Michael.” Luke raises his eyebrows, because is Calum really here to tell him off?

“Is he ratting on me?” Luke asks, laughing to try and cover the fact that he’s genuinely curious if Michael is talking about him.

Calum shakes his head. “Nope. Alex is. Said you barged in on Michael’s class and looked like you were about to murder someone. Asked me if I knew what was up. That kid, honestly. Does he even realise he’s a student? Thinks our business is his business. But seriously, what did you say to him?”

Luke drops his face into his palms. It’s been three days since the whole ordeal, and he thought he would be able to forget about it by now. But he hasn’t. All he can think about is how much of a dick he was, how he’s never in his life said something that hurtful to someone. (Except for the time he broke up with Bradley, but that doesn’t count at all.) “Okay, _technically_ it was my class. And I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” he says to the rug more than to anyone else. He can feel Ashton’s eyes heavy on him, and Calum still has his jaw set.

“What happened?”

Luke sighs. “He kept my seniors fifteen minutes after the warning bell and we had a little tiff. Nothing life changing, we’re both adults who will get over it. So don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t know what your problem with him is, but he’s really great. Just stop being a diva and give him a chance?” Calum pleads, looking at Luke with those big brown eyes that could probably melt steel.

Luke stays silent, playing with the drawstring of his pyjama pants. The episode of How I Met Your Mother he was watching is still playing in the background, and he’s thankful for it because it fills the awkward silence.

“Oh my God,” Ashton whispers, and he looks at Luke with wide eyes and an even wider mouth. “You have feelings for him!”

“What?” Luke splutters. “You’re being ridiculous. Of course I don’t have feelings for him. We’ve done nothing but clash since the moment he turned up.”

Ashton’s smile grows wider as he continues to stare at Luke. “Because he’s exactly what you want! The tattoos! The piercings! Right down to the music you listen to! Oh man. You have feelings for him!”

“I do not!” Luke exclaims. “Don’t make me kick you out of my house.”

“Whatever,” Ashton says, resting back against the sofa cushions with a smug smile on his face. “You have feelings for the music teacher.” Luke can feel the blush rise up on his cheeks, because he does _not_ have feelings for Michael. He just thinks he’s handsome, and sure he’d love to get a look at all his tattoos, but who wouldn’t? And maybe his smile is very pretty, and Luke likes how passionate he is about his job, but he does _not_ have feelings for him.

He’s about to retaliate, but Calum cuts in before him. He’s glad Calum has some kind of super power that allows him to detect whenever there’s too much tension and things need to cool down a little bit. “How about we watch a movie, huh? Have a dudes’ night in. It’s been a while since we just stayed in and had greasy foods and cheap beer.”

“Calum, we literally did that last Saturday,” Luke adds.

“Do you want me to order us pizza and chicken wings or not?” Luke nods. “Then shut your trap, Lucas.”

*~*

This is the third time in a row that Michael has held his students back. Even though Luke still feels kind of embarrassed about what happened when he confronted Michael last time, it doesn’t stop him from being angry now. It’s been ten minutes since the bell signalled that it was time to change classes, and yet Luke is still looking at empty desks in a silent classroom. He flicks through his own copy of The Grapes of Wrath, fiddling with the little paper bookmarks he has throughout the book to mark the important quotes and sighs, leaning back into his chair.

When the clock tells him it’s fifteen minutes after class was supposed to start, the students amble in, red faced and guilty. They apologise, but Luke waves them off, tells them to take out their books and use this class as a study session. He shouldn’t really be letting his anger out on them, but he feels sluggish and drained, and they’d probably get more work done themselves then if he was to trudge his way through the next half an hour, rambling off information they’ll probably forget as soon as they hear it.

It’s unusually quiet. Even Brian and Alex are working themselves, so Luke pulls a couple of tests from his desk drawer to make it look like he’s doing work when really he’s just staring at the paper in front of him. His mind is mush, thinking of nothing but what Ashton said to him on Saturday, how Michael looked when Luke insulted him, how Calum seems to be Michael’s new best friend. He’s being petty and childish, but he can’t really help it.

He’s pulled out of his daze by Alex raising his hand and shouting “Sir?”

Luke scribbles something on the paper before he looks up. He has to at least _look_ like a teacher right now, even though he feels like some jealous teenager. “What is it, Alex?”

“Do you listen to blink-182?”

Luke raises his eyebrows and a small laugh tumbles from his lips. “Do I listen to blink-182? Why are you asking me about that?”

Alex shrugs. “Mr Clifford was talking about them in class and said he was going to see them in concert. Said you were going, too.”

It takes Luke by surprise. Not only did Michael remember something Luke himself forgot, but he brought it up in his class. He was thinking about him. He definitely feels like one of his freshman know, with the way the butterflies in his stomach are going crazy at the thought of Michael talking about him. He just about refrains from blurting out “ _oh my god what exactly did he say about me_?” and manages to keep a straight face when he nods.

“Yeah, I’m going to their show.” There’s a shocked gasp, and a bit of a mumble among the class. Luke’s kind of insulted. Just because he isn’t absolutely covered in tattoos and piercings doesn’t mean he can’t live it up among the rest of the punks.

“Really?” Brian asks around the end of the pen he’s chewing. “You don’t look like you listen to music like that.”

“Well, what are they supposed to look like?” Luke asks, smiling. “I have a lip ring when I’m not teaching. And a tattoo.” He’s not sure why he feels like he has to validate his punk-ness, but he’s doing it anyway. And he kind of likes the look Alex has on his face – like he’s kind of impressed.

“Can I see your tattoo?” Alex asks, and Luke immediately regrets telling them.

“What? No?” Luke picks the still ungraded test up. “Get back to work. I have my own to do.”

Luke gets about five minutes of silence before Alex is raising his hand again. Luke almost wants to ignore it. Even though he knows it has absolutely nothing to do with academics, he’ll feel a little bad if it is and he left Alex hanging. “What is it?” he sighs before uncapping a red pen with his teeth.

“Mr. Hemmings, do you like Mr. Clifford’s tattoos?”

Luke thinks about it for a second, and is about to say yes before he catches himself. “Alex, do your work. That is none of your business.”

“Do you and Mr. Clifford hang out together when you’re not in school?”

“Do _you_ want me to assign you an essay on why it’s rude to pester teachers about their personal lives?” Luke says, not putting the test down. Alex mutters something, and when Luke finally looks at him, he’s got a smug little smirk on his face.

Luke kind of wants to give him detention for that alone.

*~*

He didn’t get as much joy out of telling Principal Hood about the whole ‘Michael stealing his teaching time’ predicament as he thought he would. He knows he’s being a total child – passing his problems on so someone else can deal with them, but he can’t take it anymore. It’s been five weeks, and every Wednesday, his class will turn up late because Michael kept them back. He needs it to be sorted out, and he knows Principal Hood will be able to do it without feeling bad for making Michael look like a kicked puppy. He _didn’t_ know that he would be asked to sit in on the meeting and talk to Michael as well.

So when Michael walks into Principal Hood’s office, smile on his face as he takes as seat. He glances to the left and does a double take when he sees Luke, rolling his eyes and muttering “I should have known” under his breath.

“Mr. Clifford,” Principal Hood starts, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers underneath his chin. “We have a slight problem with class times. Luke here thinks you’re uhm, I believe his word was _leeching_ some of his teaching time and he’d appreciate it if you’d let the class go on time so they can get to their Literature class.”

Luke can’t help but think of that time in year seven when one kid told on Calum for taking Coke to school when fizzy drinks weren’t permitted. Calum got a lecture from their teacher, and that kid basically got excommunicated from the rest of the class for like a month. Luke has a feeling he’s going to be like that kid. Either that, or Michael is probably goig to actually punch his lights out for getting him called to the principal’s office. Luke wishes he had a time machine and could go back to the day this started. If he could do that, he’d handle the whole situation differently. Try not ti insult Michael but instead give him the whole spiel about time management and how he’s getting paid to work a certain number of hours and all that. God, he really thought Mr. Hood would have done this alone.

“I’m really sorry, sir,” Michael says. He hasn’t looked back at Luke since he sat down, and he’s leaning away from him too. “It’s just, I get so caught up in practice and...”

“Practice?” Mr. Hood asks, scrunching his eyebrows together. “Practice for what?”

“Oh, band practice. We have a class band. It teaches the kids how to work together and boosts their confidence.”

“A class band?” Luke asks incredulously, and Michael takes one second to glare at him before turning back to face Mr. Hood.

Mr. Hood is nodding, writing something down on a post it note. “That’s a really good idea, Mr. Clifford. I always said the music department wasn’t getting enough attention in this school. Keep me up to date on this band of yours, and we’ll see about getting them to play at assemblies. Maybe even on open nights.”

Luke throws his hands in the air and rests back against his seat. Unbelievable. Mr. Hood gives Luke the look he used to give him and Calum when they’d come home from a party drunk, pretending not be drunk. It’s the look that says ‘I’m not an idiot and can see exactly what’s going on here. Deal with it’.

Mr. Hood was there for some of Luke’s ex boyfriends, and he seems to be drawing the same conclusions as Calum and Ashton – that Michael is exactly the type he usually goes for. Luke doesn’t understand why everyone is so adamant that he likes Michael.

“Look, Michael. I appreciate what you’re doing, but just please try not to take up anymore of Mr. Hemmings’ time, okay?” Mr. Hood says.

“Sure, Mr. Hood. It won’t happen again.” Michael turns to Luke with one of his signature smirks on his face and Luke just knows he’s about to be teased. “You know, _mister_ Hemmings, my little band could always use a pretty lead singer.”

Luke stands up, thanks Principal Hood and leaves the office without another word.

*~*

 

The heavy dance music is making the ground under Luke’s feet vibrate and his heart thump harder in his chest. He’s a little unstable on his feet, tripping and gripping onto Calum more than once to steady himself. He’s been knocking back some weird lime green concoction all night, and it seems to have gone straight to his brain and cut off the lobe that’s in charge of rational thinking and acting like a well rounded adult.

“I hate him,” Luke exclaims after they push their way through the crowd on the dance floor and find a spot at the bar. “He’s cocky and arrogant and he’s got nice hair and I _hate him_.” His speech is slightly slurred, but Calum picks up on the general gist of what he’s trying to say. He’s still pretty sober compared to Luke, drinking wine coolers as opposed to the heavy liquor Luke’s been knocking back. “Why does everyone love him so damn much?” Luke asks with a small hiccup.

Calum tires to get the bartenders attention, and sighs heavily when the man opts for serving a group of girls instead. He turns to face Luke. “Cause he’s friendly and interesting and good at his job? Dad told me his classes have the highest attendance rates, and you know what, I can’t even be offended.”

Luke grabs one of the shots from the worker who’s walking around with them in a bucket. Calum grimaces when Luke pulls the foil top off and swallows it down. “That’s cause his classes aren’t even classes.” Luke’s eyes wander around the room, looking for the girl with the shots again, but instead they land on a guy sitting in one of the booths with a couple more people. He’s obviously checking Luke out, and Luke takes a second to be flattered. The guy’s hot – has a fauxhawk and some visible tattoos. It’s like the second Luke loses the teacher uniform and tugs on the leather jacket, ring snug around his lip, he’s a different person. It gives him some confidence. Or, maybe that was the liquor store he drank since he walked into the nightclub.

He smiles at the guy, and turns it into a smirk when the guy winks at him.

Calum, now armed with another drink and one for Luke grabs Luke’s elbow to get his attention. “Don’t do anything, or any _one_ , you’ll regret.”

“Whatever,” Luke says, making grabby hands at the drink Calum bought for him. “Bet you’d support Michael’s endeavours to get his dick sucked.”

“You know, for someone who doesn’t like Michael, you sure do talk about him quite a lot. Also you’re a disgusting drunk.”

That night, Luke goes home with the man from the club, and Ashton picks Calum up after a late-night painting spree.

 The entire time they’re together, he can’t help but think that his neck looks a little plain without any ink to decorate it, and the bright blue of his eyes doesn’t shine half as bright as the emerald green that won’t leave his mind. The name Brendan doesn’t feel as nice as the name Michael does rolling off his tongue.

*~*

“You’re nuts, Hemmings,” Calum says when he saunters into the teacher’s lounge. Luke doesn’t even look up from where he’s hunched over the coffee table, scribbling down corrections on someone’s essay. “You do realise what school you teach in, don’t you? No one is gonna come to this thing.”

Luke writes _expand point_ for the hundredth time before looking up at Calum, who has one of the flyers Luke spent all morning printing and hanging up clutched in his fist. “They might. Well, they might if someone wasn’t going around tearing down the posters that tell them when it’s on.” Calum laughs and apologizes, putting the flyer on the table next to Luke’s pile of work. “If you were really sorry for destroying the flyer I worked so hard on, you’d come along,” Luke says before dropping his pen and taking a sip of his coffee. “You know, for moral support.”

Calum laughs again, and this time his eyes crinkle up and he throws his head back. “I love you Luke, but definitely not.” He’s still quietly chuckling to himself when Ashton sits down on his lap and kisses his cheek.

“What’s so funny, babe?” Ashton asks, leaning into Calum’s side and pushing his glasses up his nose. His t-shirt is caked in dried modelling clay and he has paint in his hair, but Calum puts an arm around him anyway to pull him in even closer.

He lets out another little giggle. “Luke wants me to join his little book club.”

“Seriously? Book club? You? The only things you read are sports magazines and the comics in the newspaper.”

Calum gasps and puts a hand over his heart. “That’s not true. I read all the Harry Potters.”

“That doesn’t count,” Ashton adds, picking up Luke’s flyer.

“Oh my God, yes it fucking does! Luke, tell him!”

Luke tunes out their bickering and starts correcting the essays again. He doesn’t even notice Michael walking over until he’s sitting on the sofa beside him. “Hey guys,” he greets and Calum and Ashton stall their lover’s spat to say hello back. Luke grumbles something unintelligible and continues grading, squinting hard to make out some of the handwriting.

He looks up when he can practically feel Michael’s eyes burning a hole into his skin. Michael is staring at the remainder of the bruise that the man from the bar, Brendan, left on his neck. Luke suddenly feels self conscious, shuffles in his seat. Michael has a look on his face that Luke can’t quit decipher, but then the smile is back and he’s pressing his thumb against the purple skin of Luke’s neck.

“Ay, Hemmings,” he chuckles. “Didn’t know you had it in ya. Do robots even have sex drives?” Luke shakes Michael’s hand off, and tries to ignore the way his skin is still tingling from the contact.

When the bell goes to tell them that lunch is over, Luke stands and points at Calum. “Fight Club. Thursday. Four o’clock. Please be there.”

When Luke’s about to push down the door handle he hears Michael ask “So what’s on Thursday?”

*~*

He had to pull a few strings for Mr. Hood to let him use his classroom after school hours what with the janitor wanting to lock up and go home, but after promising to drive around to the Hood’s with the key, they managed to settle on an agreement. Luke sets about pushing desks and chairs out of the way so the floor is cleared and there’s a small circle of chairs sitting in the middle of it. After checking the time on his phone and seeing it’s just gone five, Luke takes one of the seats and waits for people to turn up.

By quarter past, he’s given up and is about to start putting his classroom back in order when Alex is sticking his head in the door and asking “Mr. Hemmings?”

Luke can’t help but smile, leaning forward on his chair. “Alex, hey! Thanks for coming, man.”

Alex eyes scan around the room, and the smile falls off his face a little. “Is this it, Mr. Hemmings?” he asks, fiddling with the battered old copy of Fight Club he has clutched in his hands.

Luke nods, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Yeah, but you know, we can still talk about the book? Or whatever? Or we could just go home,” he says in defeat. He should have known this was going to flop, really. The kids have tonnes of homework – he’d be surprised if they found the time to read an extra novel a week.

Just as Luke stands from his chair to get his coat, the door is swinging open and Calum is walking in, clutching a mug of coffee and a novel. “You owe me, Hemmings. I read this damn thing for you.”

“Me too,” someone pipes up from behind Calum and Luke’s breath catches because _of course_. “Well, I mean, I read it years ago, but it’s not one of those books you forget, is it?” Michael asks, quirking an eyebrow in Luke’s direction. Alex is beaming, moving to sit in the seat beside the one Michael has chosen. Luke grits his teeth and takes his own seat.

“This is only for students,” Luke says, looking at the floor instead of at Michael. If Michael is only here to make fun of the fact that _one_ student turned up, then he can fuck off because Luke is just not in the mood for it.

“But Calum’s here!” Alex points out, and Michael turns to grin at him before looking back at Luke.

“Yeah, how come Calum is allowed to be here and I’m not?” Michael asks, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest.

“He’s here because I asked him to be here.”

Michael chuckles. “It doesn’t say on the flyer that it’s only for students.”

“It was implied.”

“Not to be rude or anything,” Michael says, “but you’re not really in a great position to be kicking anyone out.” Calum laughs, and tries to disguise it with a cough after Luke glares at him. He was supposed to be there in support, but whatever.

Luke gives in, flips open his book to a random page and asks what the other three thought of it. Alex speaks first, talking about how the book was great and Brad Pitt was awesome in the movie. He rambles on while Luke messes with the dog eared corners of his pages. Michael hasn’t said anything else, and Calum hasn’t contributed either. Alex is keeping the whole thing going by himself, talking about all the violent bits in the movie he found cool, and Luke just rubs his temples, feeling a headache coming on. As much as he thought this would be a good idea, he’s beginning to regret it.

When it’s eventually time to leave, Calum leaves the room like he’s been electrocuted and Alex looks between Michael and Luke before waving and backing out of the room. It’s awkward and silent as Michael helps Luke rearrange the furniture back to the way it was, and Luke mumbles his thanks when Michael pushes the last chair in under the desk. “You didn’t have to stay and help,” Luke says, sliding books and papers into his satchel before pulling on his coat. “But uh, thanks. And thanks for coming too, I guess.”

Michael gasps and covers his chest with his hand. “What is this? Mister Hemmings, _thanking_ me?”

Before Luke even has a chance to catch himself, the laugh is tumbling from his mouth. Michael looks a little shocked for a second, eyebrows raised and eyes wide as he looks at Luke, but then he laughs too. “I, uh, we better go,” Luke says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s getting late and I have to drive around to Mr. Hood to give him the school key.”

“Cool, cool,” Michael smiles, pulling on his leather jacket and heading towards the door. “Hey, before I forget, what’s the book for next week?”

The question takes Luke by surprise, and he blurts out “Why do you wanna know?” before he can even stop himself. It sounded harsher than he intended, and he instantly wants to take it back. The smile that was on Michael’s face is gone, and his expression is stony. Luke feels terrible, and starts to tell Michael that it came out wrong, that he didn’t mean it at all how it sounded, but Michael just shakes his head.

“I wanna  know cause I actually had a good time today. Maybe if you took that stick from out of your ass, you’d enjoy yourself too.” Michael turns and starts to walk towards the door and Luke panics, because Michael _has_ to know he didn’t mean it like that.

“Flowers for Algernon!” he shouts unnecessarily loud at Michael’s retreating back. Michael stops for a second, but doesn’t look around or say anything before continuing out the classroom door.

Luke rubs his eyes with the heel of hand and groans before snatching his car keys off his desk and following Michael out of the room.

*~*

Luke’s not sure why this week seems to be dragging. It’s only Wednesday, and it feels like it should be Friday. Calum comes into Luke’s classroom when they both have a free period and brings him doughnuts and a coffee, but it still feels like the time is moving backwards.

The papers on his desk are no closer to being graded, and he doesn’t care. He rests his head on the arms he has crossed on the table, the uncomfortable fabric of his dress shirt tight and restricting against his shoulders as he hunches forward. He can faintly hear the sound of music floating through the walls from Michael’s room, some classical piece that Luke vaguely recognises, and it’s lulling him to sleep. His eyelids are heavy and drooping, and it takes all he has not to shut them.

With the music from Michael’s room acting as a reminder that the man isn’t too far away, Luke’s mind automatically goes back to the book club. He still feels bad for the way he left things with Michael – he was obviously there for the actual discussion and not just to piss Luke off – and Luke acted like as ass. Granted, Michael kind of shocked it out of him with his kindness, but still. He can’t help but wonder if Michael will turn up this week, and he’s shocked when he realises that he really wants him to. Michael is intelligent and caring and cute, and it’s making it hard for Luke to hate him.

Luke is drawn from his almost-slumber when his classroom door bangs open and his seniors stroll in. Luke knows that it’s way too early for them to be there so he checks his phone, and sees they’re twenty minutes early. “What..” he starts, and his voice is scratchy, so he coughs to clear his throat. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Mr. Clifford told us to come here early. For catch up, cause he feels bad about keeping us back all those times.” Luke doesn’t say anything, just reaches into the drawer of his desk and pulls out the novel they’re reading. All his students follow suit, flipping to the page they finished at the day before.

“Speaking of Mr. Clifford,” Alex says while he flicks through the pages of his book, looking for the right one. “He tried to talk us all into going to your book club. Says he had a really good time and learned a lot.” Luke can already see the smirk that’s painted on Alex’s face without even looking up, and so focuses intently on his desktop so that Alex doesn’t see the smile that’s spreading across his own face.

“Uh, what’d he, uhm, what did he say?” Luke stammers, and feels like an idiot.

“Just said he can’t wait to go this Thursday.” Luke bites his bottom lip hard to try and stop smiling, but it’s too late – his class have already noticed and he’s trying hard to ignore the smirks on some of their faces. “Mr. Hemmings,” Alex starts, “I thought the book club was only for students? Why is Mr. Clifford going back?”

It’s really hard for Luke to refrain from telling Alex to shut up, but he does. Instead he starts reading a random passage from the book, not even caring that he’s probably gone over this particular one already.

*~*

Luke notices Michael’s absence from the teacher’s lounge at lunch. Every time the door opens, Luke lifts his head to look for red hair and leather, but Michael doesn’t turn up. Calum observes Luke’s weird behaviour, and so does Ashton, but neither say anything.

*~*

The school is like some kind of ghost town. All the kid’s are out in the stands watching the school team play some football match. Luke went for the first half to support Calum, but could only brave the cold for so long and eventually wandered back into the school.

He’s strolling idly down the corridor when he passes Michael’s room and sees that the door is wide open. Michael is sitting at his desk, some Misfits song softly playing in the background as he reads the sheets in front of him. Luke leans against the door jamb and just _looks_ at Michael for a second, at the dark stubble decorating his jaw and the ink splashed across the skin of his neck before he says “Heard you were talking about me.”

Michael visibly jumps, pen falling from his hand and clanging against the table. “Shit, Hemmings,” he laughs, turning the dial on the CD player to turn the music down even lower. “Is Alex gossiping again? He has a lot to say about you, too.”

Luke rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Does that kid ever stop? What’s he been saying about me?”

“Don’t worry, it’s all good.” Luke pushes himself from the door frame and moves to sit on one of the desks that’s situated in front of Michael’s. It’s quiet while Michael continues reading, and Luke cranes his neck to see if he can get a glimpse of what it is. The way it’s structured, it looks like poetry. “Song lyrics,” Michael says as if he could hear exactly what Luke was thinking.

“Did the kids write ‘em?” Luke asks.

“Yup, my seniors. You’d be surprised what some of these kids are willing to put into a song. They opened up in a way I didn’t think they would when I set the assignment. It taught me a lot more about them than it was supposed to teach them about song structure, I think.”

Luke can see Alex’s name scribbled in the top left corner of the page on the top of the pile, recognises the scrawl that’s etched into the page. He’s been trying to decipher it for years, but this looks neater than anything he’s ever handed up for Luke’s class. It looks like he cared. “What’d you learn?” Luke asks, and he’s not sure why his voice is so soft. It’s like a mood has been set, and one loud noise could shatter the atmosphere.

Michael shrugs. “I can’t even begin to explain. These kids are smart in ways that school doesn’t give them credit for.”

“How are you grading them?” Luke asks, curiously. With essays, it’s easy. Points made, grammar, structure, expression – that’s what they get marks for. But he has no idea how he would even start with correcting something creative. “Do you have a system?”

“Mhmm,” Michael says. “If they put any effort in at all, then they get an A. Can’t really give anything lower when someone opens themselves up like this. Plus, the A might give them confidence to write more. Alex’s, oh man, they’re so good. I’m gonna talk to him about writing a melody to go along with them. He’s like, a natural.”

“You really care, don’t you?” Luke’s a little but shocked, the way Michael is talking. This is a whole other level of teaching that he never even thought existed. He’s friendly with his classes, and they talk to him and they joke and laugh, but this, what they have with Michael – they’re putting trust in him, they’re laying stuff out for him, _personal_ stuff. It’s blowing Luke’s mind how they seem to treat Michael how Luke treats his older brother.

“Of course,” Michael says, and he pushes the pile of paper to the side. Resting his elbow on the desk and his head on his palm, he looks right at Luke. “When I was in school, I was a bit of a reject. I hated the place, and spent more time hiding from my teacher’s than going to classes. I was dorky and unpopular, and I spent lunch sitting in the music room strumming a guitar.”

Luke isn’t sure why Michael is telling him this, but he doesn’t interrupt. His own school days were wildly different – going to house parties and getting drunk with Calum as soon as they were old enough, making out under the bleachers, hanging out with the soccer team.

“Anyway,” Michael continues. “In year ten, we got a new music teacher. He was so awesome, really into old music. He used to sit with me at lunch, taught me riffs and power chords. Gave me CDs of punk bands and jazz singers and just made going to school a little more bearable. And I figured that if I could make one kid feel the way he made me feel, tell them it’s okay to keep doing you and doing what makes you happy, fuck anyone who says otherwise, then everything would be worth it. Don’t get me wrong, I still hate school and the entire system is fucked, but I don’t know, I guess I just want to make it a _little_ better.”

“You do.” Michael looks just as surprised as Luke feels when the words fall from his mouth, but he means them. “My seniors, they love you. They never shut up about you. Alex more so than any of them. That kid thinks you hung the fucking stars.”

Michael smiles and Luke notices the faint pink tint to his cheeks. It stands out substantially against the harsh black smudged underneath Michael’s eyes. “You know,” he says, looking back up at Luke, they’re eyes meeting. “This is the most civil we’ve ever been towards each other.”

Luke laughs, fiddling with the cuff of his shirt. “Yeah. You’re still a delinquent, though,” he says, smiling, remembering the first conversation he and Michael ever had. Michael seems to get the joke too, because he giggles, honest to god _giggles_ , and Luke’s heart rate speeds up.

“You’re still a tight ass.”

Luke stands and walks towards the door. When he looks back, Michael’s head is still resting on his palm but he’s got a dopey little smile on his face. “See you on Thursday, yeah? Four o’clock, sharp.”

“I’ll be there, Hemmings.”

*~*

Michael turns up for book club at exactly four o’clock. He has two take-out coffees from Starbucks clutched in his hands, and a copy of the book tucked underneath his armpit.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Luke says, pulling the top off and inhaling the scent that is actual coffee and not that instant crap that he has to put up with when he’s at school.

Michael shrugs and takes a sip of his own drink sitting down in the seat directly next to Luke. Luke can smell his cologne mixing a little with the coffee and it smells kind of homey – like something he’d wake up next to. “I had a free slot before now. Thought I’d do something useful – the coffee here is fucking rank and we shouldn’t have to put up with it any more than necessary.”

Luke laughs, and then almost moans around his mouthful of coffee. Someone must have told Michael his coffee order. And he knows it was Calum. Michael pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time, and looks at Luke with a small grimace. “I know, I know. What time is it?”

“Quarter past. I uh, I think this might be all that’s turning up.”

“Damnit. Not even Alex came.”

“He asked me in class earlier if I was coming, said he was too. And I asked Calum as well,” Michael says fiddling with the cardboard sleeve on his coffee cup. “I read the book though. If you wanna talk about it. And you know, I really liked it. It was kinda sad, but a nice sad. Really beautiful.”

Luke crosses his ankles and refuses to look at Michael. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, and he’s genuinely curios. Michael probably has a hundred better things to do than piss away his Thursday evenings in a freezing cold classroom discussing books. With Luke, of all people. “I mean, it can’t be much fun when no one else shows up.”

“Did it ever just cross your mind that you can just _like_ something without having a complete argument ready to defend yourself? I like coming here to talk about books.” Michael’s smiling when he says it, so Luke rolls his eyes and shoves his shoulder playfully.

“Hey, I brought you coffee, don’t be a dick,” Michael chuckles, shoving Luke back.

“Well then don’t mock me. I was just wondering. It’s hardly fun.”

“I’m having fun,” Michael pouts. “Are you not having fun with me, Hemmings? Am I gonna have to take that coffee back? Only people who have fun with me get my coffee.” Luke drains the rest of his coffee and hands the empty paper cup to Michael.

“Here,” he smirks. “All yours.” Michael laughs, and elbows Luke softly in the side, muttering ‘asshole’.

“Can I uh, can I ask you a question?” Michael mumbles, and it sounds bashful and not as confident as Michael usually is. It makes Luke feel a little weird, and he shuffles a little in his seat. He wants the loud and brash Michael back – this Michael is chewing on his bottom lip and looking at Luke like he might punch him in the face any second.

“Shoot,” Luke says, clutching at his own hands, suddenly nervous.

“And you won’t be mad?” Michael checks.

“Not unless you ask me to hide a dead body or steal a car.”

Michael laughs, but it sounds too tense for it to be natural. “It’s not either of those things. It’s just – why do you hate me?”

Luke’s eyes almost pop out of his head with the shock of the question. He knew he wasn’t the friendliest with Michael but he didn’t think the other guy suspected that he hates him. And he doesn’t, is the thing. He told himself that he did, but he thinks even that was a lie. He never hated him. He may have been a little jealous that his students got on better with Michael, and he got away with eyeliner and tattoos and piercings when Luke couldn’t even wear his lip ring, but he doesn’t think he ever fully _hated_ him. The realisation knocks him back a little bit, because Calum and Ashton (and even Mr. Hood) were right the whole time and he was using this false hatred to cover something else.  

When he builds the courage to look back at Michael, he looks a little pale and there’s a little bit of blood on his bottom lip from where he was chewing on it. “I don’t hate you.”

Michael doesn’t look convinced, instead he looks like Luke just insulted every member of his family. “Alright, well, why _did_ you hate me?”

Luke takes a deep breath and looks at the toes of his black dress shoes – comical looking beside Michael’s beat up Chucks. “I didn’t hate you. It’s just –“ Luke lifts his eyes to the ceiling. He can’t look at Michael when he says this – he feels like such a dickhead. “I never hated you. I guess, I don’t know – you were cool, and everyone loved you, and Alex was doing schoolwork for you, and I dunno. I was intimidated, I guess?”

Michael stays silent, looking at Luke with his mouth hanging open a little bit. “I never hated you,” Luke repeats again, his face flushed a little in embarrassment.

“Luke,” Michael whispers, and with the blood pounding in Luke’s ears it sounds like it’s coming from light-years away.

“Yeah?”

“Are you still going to the blink show alone?” Michael asks.

“Yeah. I only have one ticket so...”

“Come with me,” Michael interrupts. “I mean, if you want to. You should come with me.”

Luke smiles, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I want to.”

*~*

“Oh my God you guys are going on a date!” Calum screeches when Luke tells them he’s going to the blink concert with Michael. He didn’t even mean to say anything, it just slipped out when Calum asked how he was getting to the venue and he said Michael was picking him up. “I fucking knew it! When did you ask? Or did he ask? He probably asked, he has more balls than you. You know what, I don’t care who asked, all I know is that I was right and you want to marry him and have his adopted babies.”

Luke stares at Calum in disbelief for a few seconds before he dumps another spoon of sugar into his coffee. He really needs to stop drinking this shit – his blood is probably 99% caffeine at this point. Taking a sip, he leans his forearms on the kitchen counter, across from where Calum is swaying left to right on one of the breakfast bar stools. “It’s not a date. We’re going as friends.”

“It’s a date,” Calum says, ducking when Luke throws a balled up napkin at him. “It’s a date. Date, date, date, date, date.”

Luke is concentrating too much on trying to ignore Calum’s nagging that he doesn’t hear his front door opening. Ashton walks into his kitchen while Calum is still chanting ‘date date date date date’, and only stops when Ashton leans down to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“How did you get into my house?” Luke asks Ashton, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“The front door?” Ashton answers, taking one of the cookies from Calum’s plate.

“The door was locked,” Luke argues.

“Yeah, I used a key,” Ashton says, looking at Luke like he’s the biggest idiot on the planet.

“I didn’t give you a key! I don’t – how did you – I don’t even wanna know.” Luke says, giving up and drinking more of his coffee. He watches as Ashton stands behind Calum, hooking his chin over Calum’s shoulder and wraps his arms around his torso.

“So who’s going on a date?” Ashton asks, smirking at Luke like he already knows the answer. Which he probably does – he and Calum have this way of telling each other everything without having to use actual words that freaks Luke out a little bit.

“Luke,” Calum says, smiling like all his Christmases came at once. “With Michael!”

“About time.”

“It’s not a date!” Luke protests. “We’re just going to the concert together because otherwise we’d be going alone.”

“It’s a date,” Calum and Ashton say at the exact same time, and then start laughing. Ashton kisses the back of Calum’s neck as the other boy squeals in delight. Luke picks his mug from the counter top and heads into the sitting room, trying to block out the sound of Calum and Ashton’s heavy make-out session.

*~*

Luke doesn’t even know why he’s so nervous. He’s been messing with his fringe for the guts of fifteen minutes trying to get it to fall across his forehead in the right way. It’s pointless, he knows, because during the concert it’s just going to get all sweaty and go curly, but he at least wants to look nice beforehand. He even spent the whole day going over his outfit plan in his head before he settled on black skinnies and a leather jacket, blink t-shirt underneath. With his lip ring back in place and his fringe still an untamed mess, he gives up and goes to the kitchen to try and finish off the dinner the nerves in his stomach won’t let him eat.

He sits pushing the now-dry pasta around on his plate, stomach twisting as he watches the minute hand edge closer to the six on the clock. The concert doesn’t start until nine pm, but Michael said he’d pick Luke up at half seven to give them time to get a good spot and buy merch.

Thinking about Michael makes him even more nervous, and he considers taking a shot of the Tequila that’s left over from his last Christmas party to calm down, but he knows what that does to him, and he doesn’t want to be a bumbling mess when Michael picks him up.

He’s certain (well, almost certain) that this isn’t a date. Michael asked him to go to the concert as a friend and nothing more, no matter what the number of texts from Calum stating otherwise may suggest. He thinks he might be a little less nervous if this was a date – first dates, he’s done before. He knows the protocol, somewhat, and is usually prepared for whatever way they end. But this friendship initiation thing is something he hasn’t had to do since college. He met Calum when they were too young to care about anything other than the fact they both liked Spongebob Squarepants, and when Ashton joined the teaching staff the three of them just clicked. With Michael, it’s different, harder. Luke was a dick to him and this is his chance to take it back and say sorry. To show Michael that he’s not a massive dick.

He’s too lost in his own thoughts that he misses his phone vibrating on the table with an incoming call from Michael, and so the sound of the doorbell ringing startles him and almost makes him fall from his chair. He gives himself a second to get composed before heading towards the front door, swinging it open to reveal Michael standing there, grin etched onto his face. Luke’s breath almost leaves him when he sees Michael, black button down with the sleeves ripped off showing his tattoos off completely, eyeliner darker than it usually is when he’s in school.

“Holy shit, Hemmings. You’re a completely different person. Where are the suspenders?”

“Hello to you too, Michael,” Luke says, standing aside to let Michael into the hall. “Just let me grab my wallet and keys then we can go.”

“Sure,” Michael says, falling into step behind Luke and following him into the kitchen. “Dude, I’m so fucking pumped for this show, you have no idea!”

“Me too,” Luke replies, double checking around the kitchen to make sure he has everything plugged out and locked. “I hope I don’t pass out when they walk out on stage or something.”

Michael laughs, putting his hands in his front pockets that makes his biceps bulge out in a way that’s almost unholy. Luke has to drag his eyes way, focussing instead on the pattern in his wooden floor. “Man, if I cry when I see Mark Hoppus, please don’t hold it against me.”

“If you cry I’m videoing it and sending it to everyone in the school system.”

The drive to the venue is almost torturous, what with Michael practically vibrating in seat and looking far too attractive doing so. In the spirit of pre-concert excitement, Michael has blink blaring from his speakers. The busted up old thing is shaking with the volume, but Michael doesn’t seem to care, screaming the lyrics even louder and head-banging when they’re stopped at traffic lights.

Luke can’t stop looking over at him. He’s practically glowing with excitement, smiling constantly even when they’re stuck in some traffic jam. Luke’s trying not to stare too much, but Michael’s arms kind of demand his attention, and he can’t help it. They’re beautiful – smooth and slightly muscular, pale skin showing through on places that haven’t been tattooed yet. Luke is almost lost in them, eyes raking up and down Michael’s right arm as he tries to take in every detail. He wonders if Michael has anymore in places he can’t see, like on his tummy or back, his thighs. He thinks he can see a splash of colour peeking out of the hole ripped into Michael’s jeans, but with the angle they’re sitting he can’t really make it out.

“You okay?” Michael asks, raising an eyebrow and turning to look at Luke while he waits for the lights to change to green. “You’ve been really quiet.”

Luke’s brain takes a second to register that Michael is asking _him_ a question so he’s slow to respond. Michael’s too busy looking at Luke to realise the lights have changed, and only moves the car off when he gets an annoyed honk from the driver behind.

“What? No. Yeah,” Luke nods. “Yeah.”

Michael chuckles and turns down the stereo. “You wanna give me an answer I don’t need a PHD to decode?”

 “I’m good. Just looking at your tattoos. They’re pretty awesome.”

Michael looks taken aback for a second, glancing down at his own arms as if he forgot he even had tattoos. “Thanks,” he says, taking his eyes off the road for a second to smile at Luke. “I’m pretty fond on them.”

“Can I ask you something?” Luke asks, chewing his lip ring. It’s a habit he picked up and misses terribly when he has to take the jewellery out.

“Go for it,” Michael utters, his eyes back on the road ahead.

“I don’t mean this in a bad way, but like, why so many? Don’t get me wrong, they’re cool, but like, any reason behind it?”

Michael shrugs, turning into the car park of the arena. Luke hadn’t even realised that they had made it there. “Not really. I mean, there are some that I got to remember stuff, but most of them are just ‘cause I like ‘em.”

“I like them, too. I really wanna get another one, but I’m the most indecisive person ever, and can’t settle on a design.”

“Another one?” Michael asks, mouth hanging comically open.

Luke can feel the blush that’s creeping up his neck, but he tries to play it cool. “Yeah, I uh, I have a small one on my arm. Just a wolf on my bicep.”

“Dude,” Michael says, sounding impressed. “Tattoo _and_ a lip ring? Damn, Hemmings.”

Luke playfully shoves Michael’s shoulder, keeping his eyes on the dashboard so Michael doesn’t see the size of the smile he has on his face. “You ready to go in here, or what?”

*~*

Luke forgot how great concerts were. The music playing so loud you can feel the vibrations throughout your entire body, the whole crowd singing along ad saying to the same songs, the feeling on togetherness in the whole place. And as great as all that is, it’s even better when he has Michael bouncing along and screaming beside him. Michael wasn’t kidding when he said he might cry – he looks star-struck, eyes wide and hardly ever leaving the stage, only occasionally to look over at Luke and smile, to shout ‘how awesome is this’ over the screaming fans.

And as awestruck as Michael is with blink-182, Luke feels the same way about Michael.  He can hardly look away. Michael is adorable, shouting and grabbing Luke’s arm whenever they play a song he particularly loves, almost collapsing into Luke when they walked out onto stage. His skin is pink and shiny with sweat, his red fringe plastered against his forehead in clumps and he has eyeliner trailing down his cheeks, and Luke thinks he’s beautiful.

And then it happens.

Travis starts to play the introduction to what Luke recognises as [After Midnight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H86730HjLVA). He turns to Michael, and almost laughs because Michael looks like he’s going to faint. When the guitar joins the drums, Michael screams and throws and arm around Luke’s shoulders. Luke has to duck a little so Michael can do it comfortably since Michael is a little shorter than him, but the feeling of Michael’s bare arm across the back of his neck makes his heart race. “This is my favourite song!” Michael shouts into Luke’s ear, standing on his tip toes to reach. “I love this so fucking much!”

Michael doesn’t move away, instead he tightens his hold around Luke, so Luke wraps his arm around Michael’s waist so they don’t topple over. He can hear Michael’s voice more so than Matt’s, raw and coarse from all the shouting he was doing as he sings along.

When the first bridge comes in, Luke turns to look at Michael again because he can’t _not_. But Michael is already looking at him. Their eyes lock for a moment, and they stand still amidst the crowd of swaying bodies. Even with the people surrounding him knocking against him, Luke only sees Michael. Only _feels_ Michael.

Over the sound of the music he sees more than hears Michael say his name. And before he can stop himself or think too much, he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Michael’s lips. It’s over almost as quick as it started, and when Luke opens his eyes, Michael’s touching his lips like he can’t believe they’re his own.

“I’m sorry,” Luke shouts, suddenly feeling weird and guilty, fully aware that he could have read all the signs wrong, that the adrenaline pumping through his veins cost him this new friendship with Michael. He’s about to apologise again, but then Michael’s fingers are tangling in his hair and pulling him down again, crashing their mouths together once more.

 _“We’ll stagger home after midnight,”_ Mark sings on stage as Luke smiles against Michael’s mouth and grabs onto his waist.

*~*

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Michael mumbles into Luke’s mouth as he searches his pockets for his keys, pulling away from Luke for a second when he finds them to unlock his front door. As soon as it swings shut behind them, Luke is pulling Michael into him again, not wanting to be apart for a second.

“Mhmm,” Luke says, bunching his fists in the bottom of Michael’s shirt and slipping his tongue into his mouth. “I wanna if you wanna.”

Michael nods, grabbing Luke’s wrist. “Not in here,” he says, grabbing Luke’s wrist and pulling him down the hallway to his bedroom.

Luke’s clothes feel warm and stiflingly hot, his skin too tight as he and Michael undress each other. He can’t stop running his hands up and down Michael’s arms, over his belly, just above the swell of his ass. He can see some tattoos dotted across Michael’s upper body, but he’s too turned on to even think about stopping to inspect them. He hopes there’ll be plenty of time for that later. He moves his hands to grip Michael’s hair, make it so he can’t get too far away. Not that Michael was trying, his chest pressed so close to Luke’s they may as well be joined together when they fall back onto the bed.

“How do you wanna do this?” Michael pants hotly against Luke’s ear when Luke moves to suck marks onto the taut skin of Michael’s neck, biting softly at the juncture where Michael’s neck meets his shoulder.

“I don’t care. I just wanna do _something_.”

“I mean, you wanna top or bottom? I can do either.”

“Me too,” Luke says into Michael’s skin. “You pick.”

“No, you pick.”

“Oh my God,” Luke says, leaning up on an elbow to look down at Michael. “Are you kidding me?”

“Wanna flip a coin?” Michael asks, brushing Luke’s fringe back from his face.

Luke laughs and leans down to kiss Michael’s lips, groaning when Michael’s tongue slides against his own. “Fuck me. I want you to fuck me.”

“Okay,” Michael nods, kissing the tip of Luke’s nose, then his cheek. “Okay,” he repeats before clambering off of the bed and rummaging in one of his drawers. Luke can’t take his eyes off him as he lays on the bed in a room that’s just so Michael it hurts. From the band posters on the wall, to the vinyl collection stacked in the corner, even to the smell – the cologne Michael uses hanging in the air and making Luke dizzy with how good it smells. When Luke turns his head to the side to get a better view of Michael, he can smell the hair gel he uses on the pillow. He takes a deep breath in, just inhaling it, his hand travelling down on it’s on accord to make a loose fist around his cock. It feels too good – he’s been hard since the kiss at the concert, Michael’s hand caressing his thigh on the way back to his house not doing anything to help, so he shuts his eyes and allows himself a few small tugs.

He doesn’t even feel the bed dip when Michael comes back, only notices his return when he slaps Luke’s hand away from his cock and leans forward to kiss his hipbones. “Don’t want you finishing yourself off before I even get to open you up,” he says, biting and sucking on Luke’s hipbones. Michael’s mouth is too close and too far away from Luke’s cock at the same time, so he shifts his hips, hopes Michael gets the message and stops teasing.

He finishes sucking a bruise on the inside of Luke’s thigh before he settles between Luke’s legs, pushing them apart so he has more room. Luke plants his feet on the sheets and spreads his legs so Michael can fit between them.

“Jesus, Luke,” Michael whines before ducking his head down and licking a stripe up the underside of Luke’s cock, from his balls right to the top. “You’re dripping already.”

Luke pushes his head back against the pillows, tries to steady his breathing as Michael takes the head into his mouth, sucking lightly. Michael starts bobbing his head then, using one hand to stroke the base where his mouth isn’t reaching. Luke is trying not to push up into the warmth of Michael’s mouth, It feels almost heavenly, and he knows that if Michael keeps going then he’s going to come very soon, but he can’t ask him to stop. His mouth seems to be useless for anything other than curses and moans of Michael’s name.

He grits his teeth when he feels Michael’s first finger rubbing over his entrance, slick and a little cold as he rubs the flat of it over Luke’s rim. When he slips the tip of his finger inside, Luke’s eyes roll back in his head in pleasure and he has to grip onto the sheets beneath him to ground himself. Michael pulls himself off Luke’s cock until just the tip is in his mouth as he works his finger in deeper, short shallow thrusts that have Luke squirming.

When he’s three fingers in, Michael moves up the bed to lean over Luke and kiss his lips. “How does it feel?” he asks, stretching his fingers a little more to make sure Luke is prepped enough. Luke can only nod, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as Michael’s fingers work inside of him.

He’s almost embarrassed by the noise that rips out of his throat when Michael’s fingers rub against his prostate, and he turns his face into Michael’s neck to try and stifle any more than might slip out. “There, baby?” Michael asks, and Luke shuts his eyes, nods his head yes against Michael’s shoulder. Michael doesn’t pull his fingers out, instead rests his palm just underneath Luke’s balls and rubs against Luke’s prostate. Luke’s thighs shiver with how good it feels, and he howls into Michael’s skin, bucking his hips in hope of pressure against his swollen prick.

“Michael,” he pants, grabbing at Michael’s wrist to try and pull his fingers out. “You gotta stop. I’m gonna come if you don’t stop.”

Michael kisses Luke’s lips as he pulls his fingers out slowly, and rolls to the side to put on a condom. Luke takes a second to recuperate, to try and catch his breath and make this last as long as possible. The clenching in his gut tells him it won’t be too long, anyway.

Michael repositions himself between Luke’s legs, Luke’s thighs resting on top of his own. “You good?” he asks, pressing the tip of his cock against Luke’s hole before pushing in slightly. It’s bigger than his three fingers, and Luke reaches a hand out to grasp Michael’s bicep at the intrusion.

“Keep going. Please, keep going, I need it.” Michael slides his hands down Luke’s thighs to rub soothingly at his waist as he pushes himself in slowly, one hand moving to tug Luke’s cock back to full hardness.

“Shit, Luke,” Michael says when he’s fully inside, hips flush against Luke’s ass. “You’re so fucking tight, feels real good.”

Luke doesn’t answer, just squeezes his thighs around Michael’s hips so he knows it’s okay to move. Luke moves his hands from the sheets to rub up and down Michael’s back when he starts to move, slow and shallow at first but soon getting faster and harder when he’s sure he won’t hurt Luke.

It doesn’t take long for Luke to  feel the sensation in his gut, the one that tells him he’s about to come. He’s surprised he lasted so long after being on edge, but it still comes as a surprise. Michael looks close, too – breath coming in short, shallow gasps as he shifts his weight about, looking for that spot to drive Luke crazy.

Once Michael finds it, Luke is gone. “Michael,” he pants, digging his nails into the soft skin of Michael’s back. “Mikey, I’m gonna come, fuck, Mikey, _please_!”

Michael leans over Luke, his elbows resting beside Luke’s head as he moves his hips faster. “Go on, baby. I’m gonna be right there with you.” Luke raises his head as best as he can from his pillows so he can kiss Michael’s lips, pulling him down and wrapping his legs around Michael’s waist.

Luke moves his hand down to wrap around his cock, but Michael grabs his wrist before he can. “No, just with me.” Luke groans, almost whimpers as Michael hits his prostate more often than not, screaming words he’s not even sure make sense.

And ten he’s coming, covering his own stomach as well as Michael’s as pleasure rips through his body and makes his muscles go lax. He tightens his legs around Michael’s waist to let him know it’s okay to keep moving, he’s not that sensitive yet, and it’s only a couple more thrusts before Michael is stilling on top of him, shaking as his own orgasm hits.

“Holy fuck,” Michael says when they’re laying underneath the duvet, naked legs tangled together. “That was, I don’t even know. That was amazing.”

“Yeah,” Luke absentmindedly agrees, running his fingers through Michael’s hair. Michael manoeuvres himself so his head is on Luke’s chest, one hand clasping Luke’s on the pillow.

“Never thought when I met you you’d be the type to fuck on the first date.”

“Was that even a date?” Luke laughs, the hand Michael’s not holding moving to hold Michael’s waist.

“No,” Michael says. “I suppose I should take you our for dinner or something, huh?”

“I like Chinese food.”

*~*

It’s Monday morning, so he’s not in the best mood as he sits in the teacher’s lounge, grading essays and drinking coffee out of his old mug that says ‘world’s best te cher’. He groans, rubs at his eyes and leans back against the plush cushions of the sofa, tugging his lip ring into his mouth and biting on it. Mr. Hood hasn’t seen him wearing it yet, but a few other staff members have noticed it and have been giving him funny looks. He doesn’t care. Michael told him to wear it, see if he got away with it.

Speaking of Michael, he checks the time on his phone, sees that he has twenty minutes before the first class of the day starts. He was kind of hoping Michael would be here early so he could see him. It hasn’t even been twenty four hours since he left Michael’s house, barely even _twelve_ ¸ but he kind of misses him. After the concert on Friday night, they spent the weekend together in Michael’s bed, watching crap television and eating crappier food. It feels a little weird to not be with him after spending that much time together.

“Mornin’ honey bee,” Calum sing songs, dropping into the armchair in of Luke. “Oh, you’re wearing your lip ring? Wonder why that would be.”

“Morning,” Luke says, chewing on the end of his pen as he tries to find a way to give another percent so the student will get an A. Because he’s in a good mood he gives it to them, anyway, circling the A in the top right hand corner before dumping the paper on the coffee table.

“So, how was the concert?” Calum asks.

“Really good,” Luke says, and he knows the smile on his face is going to give it all away but he can’t help it. “blink were awesome.”

“Yeah? So awesome that you couldn’t answer your phone all weekend?” Calum huffs.

Luke shrugs his shoulders. “I was busy.”

Just then the door swings open, and a mess of red hair comes into view. Luke makes room on the sofa for Michael, ignoring the pointed look Calum is giving him. “Hey, Luke,” Michael says, and hands Luke one of the paper coffee cups from the cardboard holder and leans in to kiss his cheek. Luke mutters his thanks, and lifts his arm so that Michael can rest against his side.

When Michael settles and is about to take a sip of his own drink, he finally spots Calum, and Luke can see Michael’s face turn the same colour as his hair. “Oh, uh, hi, Calum. I uh, didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly.” Calum says, but he’s smiling. “Did this happen at the show?” Luke and Michael nod at the same time. “Awesome, Ash owes me twenty bucks. Also, you guys might want to thank Alex.”

“What?” Luke asks. “Why would we thank Alex?”

“Oh, he told everyone not to go to your book club. Told me to say I was gonna go and then not turn up. Something about you needing to sort out all the tension. I don’t know, kid’s weird. And nosey as hell. You know, he asked me the other day if I was gonna propose to Ashton? How does he even know we’re dating?”

“Hold on, he purposefully sabotaged my book club?” Luke exclaims, waving his arms and almost spilling his coffee.

“Let it go, sweet heart,” Michael says, wrapping an arm around Luke’s torso and kissing his neck.

“Yeah, well they all better come this week.”

“I’m sure they will,” Michael says, and Calum scoffs. “I’ll be there, anyway.”  

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!  
> Come holla at me on tumblr -> t1mburton


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